No Matter What
by Coquus In A Hat
Summary: LoVe. Takes place immediately after the season finale. A oneshot about who was at the door, and the aftermath of his coming to see her. Rating for safety.


Disclaimer: I do not own _Veronica Mars_.

AN: This will most likely be a one-shot. I might make it multi-chaptered if there's enough interest. Anyway, this was inspired by the song "Auf Achse" by Franz Ferdinand. Enjoy!

Logan stood at her door for more than a half hour considering his options. He could leave. Not just her door, but everything, just like his mother had done. When he had first heard how she had chosen to "escape" he had resented her for leaving him alone. She had closed her eyes and leaned over the edge knowing full well that her only son would be stuck with his bastard of a father. She could have just as easily packed both of their bags, jumped in the convertible, and vanished. Now that he was in this position, with the knowledge of who had actually killed Lilly, he thought she might have been the most intelligent of anyone. She had taken leave of her problems the quickest way possible. Maybe he should follow in her footsteps.

Of course, he could always do the "healthy" thing and confront his issues head-on with someone who would at least partially understand him; someone who very closely resembled the person standing just on the other side of the door; someone who was so close, yet completely out of reach. That is, out of reach unless he rapped his fist on this piece of wood and waited for her to answer his call, which she undoubtedly would.

No matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how much he tried to channel his mother and forget about the people around him, he knew he wanted to see her. He had plenty of time to figure out what the rest of his life would (or wouldn't) look like. Right now, he wanted her.

Almost immediately after his hand left the door, Veronica answered. She looked beat up but considering what she had been through, not much worse for wear. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot in a mixture of long hours crying and even longer hours without sleep. Even still, they showed concern for him rather than self-pity.

"I was hoping it would be you," she said as her chapped lips broke into a smile. She took in his appearance much as he had just done. He knew she could tell from his eyes that he too had been crying. They stood there in the doorway staring at each other for an undeterminable amount of time before he got up his nerve to speak.

"Hi," was all Logan could manage at the time but it was enough to reassure her that he wasn't going to bolt. She gestured for him to enter and then to sit on the couch. He did the former, but instead of following her second silent order he began to pace in front of her.

"Logan," Veronica began as she sat down on the couch he had rejected, "Weevil called me last night and told me what you were trying to do. Do you remember that?"

"No. But whatever it was it might explain these bruises."

She looked at him hesitantly before saying, "Well, it doesn't really matter now. I'm sure you've got bigger things on your mind at the moment."

Logan continued to pace silently. He didn't know what to say to her. Should he apologize for that demon which took a crucial part in his conception? (Father now seemed too warm a term to describe him.) Should he hold her and comfort her? Should he ask for her to do the same to him? Should he begin rambling about his feelings? Should he play the role of the therapist and ask her questions about _her _feelings? Should he ask about his adventure from the other night of which he had no recollection? Should he run?

The best choice seemed the most neutral of topics. "What did I do?"

She didn't look alarmed. It seemed she had known he would avoid raw wounds. Unfortunately, he didn't realize that he had, in fact, stumbled upon another sensitive subject.

"Are you sure you want to know? I don't want to heave anymore . . . unnecessary trouble on you," she said.

"Yes," was his succinct answer.

Veronica looked up at him with sorrowful eyes before stumbling through her sentence, "You were, um, on the bridge. You were, um, on the, uh, railing. I mean, I, uh, don't think you knew what you were doing. You were really drunk."

Logan let out a short burst of laughter. So he had already tried to execute his thoughts without even knowing it. Alcohol sure was a funny, funny substance. He was still smiling to himself when he noticed the look on Veronica's face. She looked scared. Of him.

He started to move closer as he said softly, "Look, I'm sorry for barging in like this. I just wanted to see you, to hold you, to make sure you were all right."

She squirmed where she was sitting and looked extremely uncomfortable. "Logan, I don't think either of us are in the right frame of mind to be around people . . . each other right now. We're both upset."

He stopped short. It dawned on him why she was acting this way. He was an idiot not to have foreseen this. "Like father, like son, huh? Is that what you think?" his voice began to rise as he spoke. His temper never had been one of his finer qualities. "Do you honestly think I would even consider acting anything like him!"

She was clearly afraid now. Logan had never seen Veronica Mars afraid. Even when Lilly had died, all he had seen was determination to find her killer. Now she had, and it was leading to the crumbling of the defenses she had spent years putting up; those walls had always served their purpose of keeping her emotions where no one could find them loyally. They were failing her now. It pained him so much to know that he was the one instilling this fear in her. Not his father, not any one of the numerous creeps she had encountered were doing this, but it was he who was frightening her.

This guilt made him stop ranting and advancing on her. It also made him flee. He turned around and stormed out of the apartment leaving her cowering on the couch. Someone would be there soon to protect her. It would never have been him, no matter what had happened.

He gunned the engine as soon as he had jumped in the car and sped off in whatever direction his gaze was pointed.

All he had wanted was to touch her, to hold her, to have her. But she wouldn't let him. She had made her decision and he didn't blame her. How could she have ever wanted him after everything she had been through with his family? After what his father had done to her? After what his father had done to Lilly? After what he, himself, had put her through in the past year?

No. It would have ended up like this no matter what.


End file.
